


for you, there's only love

by rosewrought



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Bathing/Washing, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Fall of Overwatch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 19:47:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10623915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewrought/pseuds/rosewrought
Summary: Jesse wants to stay right here with the man he loves—hasalwaysloved—until the end of time. Idly, Jesse wonders if Reyes would like that, too.





	

When the tendrils of shadow withdraw from where they have been wrapped around his waist, thighs, throat, chest, they take McCree with them. He finds himself in Reaper’s arms, cradled as the mercenary carries him across the room. It’s a startlingly gentle gesture; Reyes holds him close to his chest, an arm around the mass of his body, his free hand sliding into Jesse’s hair to support his head. Reyes lifts him like he weighs nothing. Jesse can’t ignore the little thrill that shoots up his spine at the thought. He wraps his arms tight around Gabriel’s neck.

The mercenary is taking him to the bathroom. It’s a tiny space, and just as shitty as the rest of the motel room McCree has been holed up in. There is a toilet beside the door, with an adjacent vanity and cracked mirror. There’s no shower, which is an interesting choice from a design standpoint; instead, a bathtub sits next to a small window overlooking the parking lot. There are no curtains. Wallpaper is peeling from the damp walls.

The tub is far too small for either one of them to fit comfortably in, but Reaper lowers the gunslinger into it nonetheless. Jesse is too tired to object. Reyes turns on the water. Thankfully, it’s hot.

While the tub fills around Jesse’s naked form, the heat of the water already easing the ache of his muscles, Gabriel undresses. Jesse has seen him nude before, many times before Zürich and a handful after, but that doesn’t stop him from watching with interest. The gloves are the first to go; Reyes releases the buckle of the first with his teeth and lets it fall to the floor. The mask follows. Then the heavy overcoat, which puddles around his feet. Then the Kevlar bodysuit, a process which is painstakingly complicated. McCree would offer his services, but he doesn’t think he could move if he tried.

The flesh beneath is ashen. Nasty looking wounds are peppered across his abdomen. Jesse recognises them as the result of pulse ammunition; the shots have seared through his skin and into his core. The burns surrounding the wounds have started to blister, and it’s a ghastly sight. The rest of Reyes’ body, though, looks no different to the way it looked the last time he had seen it: the multitude of scars Reyes had received while he was still alive, raised and white against his dark skin; the thick hair, patchy in places where his body is too damaged to produce it; the horrific Y-shaped scar cutting across his pectorals and down his sternum. None of it surprises Jesse anymore, but that doesn’t mean the sight doesn’t make his heart ache.

Reaper turns away, leaving a pile of clothes on the tiled bathroom floor. Jesse lets his eyes slip closed for just a moment.

He starts when Gabriel touches him. The brush of fingers against his shoulder is tentative, and when Jesse opens his eyes again, he offers his lover a reassuring smile. Gabriel’s touch becomes more sure.

The wraith turns the faucet off, before dampening a washcloth and starting to dab at McCree’s wounds. Long, bloody scratches span the length of his torso, a product of those damned clawed gloves. The insistent cleaning stings, but Jesse doesn’t mind; the fact that Reyes is touching him so gently has warmth pooling in his belly, has his heart jumping into his throat. A hand runs over his shoulder, down his back; this time, Reyes’ touch is soothing. McCree stretches out as far at the tub will let him and lets his head loll back against the edge.

He watches Gabriel with lidded eyes. Even though Jesse is the one exhausted, naked, well fucked, Gabriel seems to be the vulnerable one. Jesse knows he’s the only person privileged to see the Reaper like this, soft and exposed, so terribly off guard. He has let his walls down—walls that are made of years of hurt, decades of distrust. He’s letting Jesse see the most vulnerable parts of himself, and Jesse wonders, not for the first time, how they both came to be like this.

He wants to tell Gabriel that he’s not going to hurt him— _never_ going to hurt him—but the words stick in his throat.

He wants to tell Gabriel that everything is going to be alright, but he can’t say for certain that it will be.

Tentatively, Reyes lifts his unoccupied hand to touch McCree’s throat. The sensitive skin is already bruising an ugly yellowish-green colour where the wraith’s velvety smoke had held him tight. Jesse tilts his head, bares his throat to give Reyes better access. The older man looks like he wants to say something, but decides against it, allowing his thumb to drift gently against the abused skin before returning to the task at hand.

Once he’s satisfied that McCree’s cuts are clean, Reaper sets the washcloth aside in favour of the tiny bottle of shampoo that had been set on the vanity. Jesse hasn’t touched it; with no shower in the room, it had been too inconvenient and time consuming to bother trying to bathe. Besides, it’s not like he had been expecting this. As they usually are, Reaper’s visit was a not entirely unpleasant surprise.

Gabriel tilts Jesse’s head back, scooping water from the tub into his cupped hands and tipping it over the gunslinger’s scalp until his hair is damp. With dextrous fingers, Gabriel begins to work the shampoo into his hair.

McCree immediately melts into the touch. A low, pleased noise sounds in his chest, and he shudders. He is so warm and deliciously sleepy, and he does not want this moment to ever end. Jesse wants to stay right here with the man he loves—has _always_ loved—until the end of time. Idly, Jesse wonders if Reyes would like that, too.

When Reaper speaks, it is so quietly that McCree almost misses it: “Your hair is way past regulation, soldier.”

A moment passes while Jesse registers the words, unsure if he had heard them right, before laughter escapes from between McCree’s kiss-swollen lips. He twists to look at the wraith, whose fingers are tangled in the long hair at the nape of his neck, tugging delicately.

Jesse reaches to touch Reyes’ own hair, long and matted and tangled. It’s achingly apparent that Reyes hasn’t taken the time to take care of himself in a long while, and McCree can’t say he dislikes the dishevelled look on his former commander. But there is something distressing there; Reyes always cared so much for his appearance, nary a hair out of place in Blackwatch, even after days in the field on a covert op. It’s an unwelcome reminder that Reaper is a shell of the man Jesse knew a lifetime ago.

A reminder that he’s forgotten that he’s still human.

A reminder that he needs someone to show him.

But Jesse can’t bring himself to try.

“Could say the same ‘bout yours, darlin’,” he says instead, and draws Reyes in to kiss him.


End file.
